Golden Heart (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles) (5 page)

“De Niza tried to catch up with him,” said Katarina, demonstrating that she too had been filled in on the fairy tale. “But he came across several members of Estevanico’s party who were bloodied and beaten. They told him that the Moor had been killed at Cibola.”

“Correct,” said Lazarus. “De Niza dared not enter the city and only saw it from a distance. When he returned to Mexico City, he told what he had seen but mentioned nothing of gold. This did not perturb the Spaniards, who were more convinced than ever that this Cibola and its sister cities must be the golden empire they sought. Another expedition was organized with de Niza as a guide and the governor of Nueva Galicia—a man called Coronado—as its leader.

“Coronado,” put in Vasquez. “Now there’s a fella I heard tell of.”

“And with good reason,” said Lazarus. “Not just because you share his name. Francisco Vazquez de Coronado was the fellow who exposed the whole thing as a fraud, however inadvertently. When he and de Niza arrived at Cibola, they found only a meager Zuni pueblo called Hawikuh. With Coronado and his men cursing de Niza as a phony, a battle broke out with the Zuni warriors, and the pueblo fell to the Spaniards.”

“So Coronado and his pals hadn’t found Cibola, then?” asked Vasquez.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” said Lazarus. “There is no doubt that they found the city Estevanico had dubbed Cibola, but nobody had ever said anything about it being a city of gold. That was just in the imaginations of the Spaniards. And it was a myth the Zuni and other pueblo peoples were happy to propagate. Soon Coronado was heading out again on instructions given to him by the defeated Zuni, that golden cities lay further north east. He got as far as Kansas before giving up and returning in debt and in disgrace.”

“So he didn’t find it,” said Vasquez, lighting up a cheroot. “That don’t mean it don’t exist.”

“Its existence is highly unlikely,” said Lazarus. “This continent has been occupied by white men for over four hundred years. Seven cities made of gold couldn’t have escaped notice for that long.”

“As you said, opinions are opinions,” said Vasquez. “All I’m saying is I’ve got a map which is yours for the right price.”

“My mission was to deliver you, not a map,” said Lazarus.

“Well no dice on that one. It’s the map or a mouthful of dust. You’ll have to make your mind up on that.”

Chapter Five

In which a mountain journey ends in betrayal

They spent the following morning drifting towards the mountains which hove into sight like golden teeth. By noon, Vasquez and Hok’ee were making plans to set the balloon down. Lazarus squinted into the distance, shielding his eyes against the glare. At the foot of the mountains he could see the ruins of what looked like an old fort. The wooden palisade had collapsed in places and there seemed to be no life about at all.

“What’s this place?” Lazarus asked.

“An old outpost from the early days of the war,” Vasquez replied. “It was once the northernmost airship dock in Arizona Territory, but it’s fallen into disrepair now. We use it occasionally as a hideaway. Most of its various functions still work, and I keep a few supplies stockpiled.”

They drifted over the base and Vasquez began to inflate the ballonets; balloons within the balloons that were slowly filled with air, compressing the helium which caused the dirigible to slowly sink. When they were a few feet from the dock, Hok’ee leapt overboard to secure the anchor lines.

Lazarus was glad to feel solid ground beneath his feet, and looked around the abandoned base with interest. The buildings were in a poor state of repair—broken windows and dusty timbers with tangles of dry desert growth in every crack. The rusty carriages for anti-airship batteries were visible beneath the overgrowth, their guns long since towed away. There was a dilapidated telegraph shack, but Lazarus could see no telegraph wires leading away from the fort and assumed that the Confederacy must have used a ground wire.

“I got weapons stored in a bunker under the main building,” Vasquez said. “We’re running low on helium, too. There’s a store of that over there,” he said, pointing at a storage building that had once supplied the airship docks. “This is as far as the
Santa Bella
goes, but I want her fitted out for a quick extraction once we’re done.”

“We’re going on by foot?” Lazarus asked.

“I ain’t risking her up in the mountains where there’s no flat ground to land on. Hok’ee and I’ll fetch the helium. You two head over to the main building and make yourselves comfortable. We’ll fetch the supplies and eat before setting out.”

Lazarus and Katarina found the main building swept, tidy and surprisingly well stocked considering the dilapidated state of the base.

“I wonder if any other bandits use this place,” said Katarina. “It seems too neat to be the sole responsibility of those two.”

“Well, there are plenty of rogues in these parts,” Lazarus replied as he kindled the stove. “Although Vasquez is the only one I’ve heard of with his own airship. Civilian airships are forbidden. Airspace is for military craft only.”

“I can’t imagine that man in any sort of military outfit,” she said.

“Well, he didn’t last long. They gave him the boot years ago.”

“Do you know why?”

“No. But it cost them one of their dirigibles.”

Katarina was poking about in cupboards and opening doors to other rooms filled with junk and dust. “I wonder where he keeps his weapons.”

“He said there was a bunker under the main building.”

“I don’t see any trap door,” she replied, tracing lines in the dirt with the toe of her boot. “Maybe the entrance is outside.”

“Why don’t we wait until Vasquez and Hok’ee get back? I don’t see why we need more weapons, anyway. You and I are both armed adequately.”

“We’re going into the mountains. In Russia, one never goes into the mountains without a good rifle. Too many wolves. And here there are mountain lions, bobcats and other things. Besides, do you trust Vasquez?”

“Trust him? Not nearly as far as I might throw him.”

“My thoughts exactly. I want to see what else he’s hiding. Stay here if you want, Englishman.”

Lazarus sighed and drew an armchair towards the fire as she went out. She was lovely to look at, there was no getting around that. But she was as prickly as an Arizona cactus, and if he trusted Vasquez little, he trusted her less.

She was back before Vasquez and Hok’ee had returned. “Find anything?” he asked her.

“There’s a trapdoor out back but it’s padlocked.”

“I wouldn’t have thought a padlock would stop a woman like you.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Only that your dress and corset seem to be the only things that set you apart from the other killers and soldiers of fortune in this world.”

She seemed offended by that. “I see. You Englishmen like your women in your cozy parlors pouring your tea and keeping your beds warm at night. Anything else frightens you. Tell me, Longman. Are you married?”

“Married? No, I think that steamer departed long ago for me.”

“Why do you say that? You can’t be any more than thirty. Or was there a special someone? Someone who couldn’t—
or wouldn’t—
marry you and now you insist on playing the broken-hearted man of a tragic novel?”

Lazarus narrowed his eyes at her. “Has anybody ever accused you of being too forward? Or are all Russians like that?”

She sniffed. “You only despise my forwardness because you secretly wish you could be so yourself. But you’re just too English. Your repressed nature simply won’t let you.”

Lazarus felt a decidedly uncharacteristic flare of patriotism. “If all Englishmen were as reserved as you seem to believe, then our Empire would surely never have cloaked half the globe.”

She smiled. “Oh dear, have I offended your honor?”

He immediately felt foolish. How had this woman ignited a flame of pride for his homeland within him that he had thought long snuffed? He had once been a proud Englishman, but a war in Africa and four years of doing the bureau’s dirty work had sapped his store of patriotism.

Vasquez poked his head around the door. “Why don’t I smell cooking?” he asked. “You two sure look comfortable, while Hok’ee and I have been doing all the heavy lifting. There’s tins in the cupboard and biscuits somewhere too.”

Lazarus looked to Katarina. She frowned at him. “Are you honestly expecting me to cook for everybody just because I’m the one in the dress and corset?”

“Oh, for goodness sake!” said Lazarus, rising. “I’ll get the tins, you find the biscuits. Playing happy families with you isn’t exactly what I signed on for either.”

When they were done, they made ready to set out. Vasquez produced a key for the bunker and began passing items out to Hok’ee. One was an enormous Jericho Gatling gun which Hok’ee attached to his mechanized elbow. Its six barrels were automatically cranked by some internal switch over which Hok’ee had control. It had its own miniature furnace and boiler which could be powered by a tiny flake of mechanite. The weight of the thing made Lazarus realize that the mechanical implants in his body must be grafted onto his skeleton, and he wondered how much of the bone under the flesh had metal attached to it, to make the weight seem insignificant. In addition, he was even able to toss a couple of bands of ammunition over his shoulder.

“What on earth is up in those mountains that warrants that kind of firepower?” Lazarus asked.

“You never know,” Vasquez replied. “Bandits like myself; quite a few of whom hate my guts. Bounty hunters. And the Unionist Partisan Rebels pop up all over this territory. You can never be too careful.”

They set off into the mountains with Hok’ee guarding their backs and Vasquez leading the way. Great canyons dropped down into the river, and towering sandstones and limestones in varying shades of red and orange that looked to Lazarus like an English layer cake rose up on all sides.

It was swelteringly hot and there was no shade. Lazarus drank sparingly from the canteen he had filled at the airship base, for he did not know how long this excursion was going to take, nor what would happen once they reached their objective. Would Katarina try to steal the map from him and leave him to die of thirst and heat up here in the mountains? Or would she just shoot him in cold blood? He dreaded every possibility and did not see any favorable outcome of this situation. He would kill her if he had to, but his gut churned at the thought of more blood on his hands.

“Here we are,” said Vasquez at last.

This came as a relief to Lazarus, for their leader had shown the occasional sign of confusion at some marker that had been washed away or a bit of land he didn’t remember. He pointed to a small cave entrance high up in the cliff face.

“You hid it in a cave?” Katarina asked, as if in disbelief that he could have chosen so foolish a spot. “Are you so sure that it hasn’t been discovered? Or washed out by rainwater? Or chewed up by a bobcat?”

“Have a little faith, darlin’” he replied. “Ain’t no bobcat gonna eat my map, nor rainwater get to it.”

It was a tough scramble. Twice Lazarus offered his hand to Katarina, only to receive a burning look of resentment in return. They clambered into the cool shade, and Lazarus could have wept at the relief. The cave was deep and fell away into chilled darkness. The ground was soft from the silt that the river had deposited in it untold centuries ago. Vasquez drew a gas lamp from his knapsack and got it going, illuminating the deep shadows and smooth rock formations.

They walked on slowly, inching forward only as far as the lamp would illuminate. Vasquez held his pistol out, cocked. “There might be a mountain lion and her cubs in here, so stay close and make ready with your firearms,” he cautioned.

A passageway led off from the tunnel, and Lazarus realized that most of it must have been hollowed out by the hands of natives centuries ago.

“Stop,” Vasquez commanded. He knelt down and began sweeping the dusty floor with one hand. “Pass me the shovel, Hok’ee.”

The shovel was passed—a simple folding one instantly recognizable to the military man—and Vasquez began to dig, churning up dirt and loose rubble. He appeared to strike something that brought him immense pleasure, for he flung aside his shovel and began digging with his hands. He eventually removed a tin ammunition box from the ground—rusted, dented and scarred.

“Let’s see it, then,” said Lazarus.

Vasquez bundled it under his arm. “Not so keen, limey. Let’s get out of this cave first and into daylight. Then I’ll say what happens next.”

They made their way out, and Lazarus was just assessing the best way down the cliff face when a shot rang out and flaked off a chunk of rock by his feet with a loud ‘ping!’

They all hit the dirt, and Lazarus drew his Starblazer. He could see men moving about down in the valley, and his first thought was that they had walked into a trap planned by Vasquez. But then he saw their uniforms. They were blue. Long dusters with stars and stripes on the arms. Some wore hats with crossed sabers.
Yankees
.

“We got you surrounded, Vasquez!” somebody cried out.

Hok’ee flipped open the carousel magazine in his Jericho and fed in a band of ammunition.

“No!” said Lazarus. “There’s too many!”

“Boy, you never seen Hok’ee and his Jericho in action!” said Vasquez. “He can wipe out a squad in ten seconds flat!”

“They have snipers concealed in the bushes,” Lazarus insisted. “He’ll be killed before he pulls the trigger.”

Vasquez poked his head above cover, then ducked immediately as a bullet ricocheted near his ear. “Alright, Hok’ee. Cool it while we think this over.”

“This is the Unionist Partisan Rangers!” called up the voice again. “Come down with your guns holstered!”

“Rebels! How the hell did they find us?” Vasquez demanded.

“Let’s do as they say and see what they want,” said Katarina. She stood up slowly and slid her long pistol back into its holster, concealing it with her dress. Lazarus watched her, half expecting her head to get blown off at any second. She raised her arms and called down, “We surrender!”

“Woman’s not as tough as she puts on,” Vasquez mumbled. “But she has a point. I don’t see any other way out of this.”

“Maybe we can bargain with them,” Lazarus suggested.

“Maybe. But you keep your yap shut about what I’ve got in this here box. I didn’t dig it up for these blue boys to get hold of.”

They stood up together. After much encouragement, the reluctant Hok’ee joined them and they made their way down the cliff towards the partisans.

They were a rag-tag group. Uniform was only adhered to in the navy blue of their garments and a few Union insignias, for they wore a variety of dusters, cavalry trousers and tatty coats. Their leader, a tall, thin black man stepped forward. “My name is Lieutenant Clay Thompson of the Unionist Partisan Rangers,” he said. “You are hereby under arrest in the name of the United States of America. Please hand over your firearms.”

Lazarus and Vasquez reluctantly let the rebels seize their guns, although nobody thought to check their boots. Lazarus afforded himself an inward smile.

“Christ, how do we get this thing off?” one of the rebels exclaimed, pointing at Hok’ee’s right arm.

“You prize it loose from my dead body,” Hok’ee replied through a snarl.

“If you insist,” said Lieutenant Thompson. “But I’d rather keep you all alive. For the time being.”

After much coaxing from Vasquez and Lazarus, Hok’ee was finally convinced to unhinge the mighty Jericho gun. It took two men to lift it off his body and carry it away. The mini-furnace was still hot, and they also took his supply of mechanite. It was only then that Lazarus noticed that Katarina was still armed.